


Just

by dicks



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hayato contemplated how easy it was to cross the line</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Beta by anyjen , written for theotherdenise

  
Hayato raked his fingernails on the surface of his palm, scrubbing it hard, then harder, before rinsing it off with the water. The sink was half full with pink water and suds. He turned off the tap, poured a luxuriant amount of dishwashing liquid on his palm before washing his hands all over again. Blood started to cake under his fingernails and stubbornly refused to come off. He was washing his hands intensively for the third time that night and his hands were starting to feel raw and tingly as if layers of his skin had been peeled away but still, the blood wouldn’t go away.  
  
He sighed in frustration, wiped his hands dry on the front of his pants, and then slumped himself on one of the nearest chairs in the kitchen. The metallic scent of blood and sweat filled his nostrils and clogged his throat and he had to fight the urge to gag. He cringed and scrunched his nose in disgust. A hot bath was what he desperately needed but he didn’t feel like moving. He didn’t feel like getting up; and limping the whole way through the white, narrow corridor to his room was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment.  
  
“You look like a corpse.”  
  
“You look like you need a make-over.” he glared at Ryohei, slightly annoyed at being caught off-guard.  
  
Pulling a chair, Ryohei sat directly in front of him along with a first-aid kit on his lap, “Seriously, you’re getting slow at your age. This is too much blood even for you.”  
  
“Shut up.” he snarled then fished a crumpled cigarette box from his shirt pocket, “Half of this blood isn’t mine.”  
  
Without another word, Ryohei reached over and turned Hayato’s chair, so they were facing each other. Ignoring Hayato’s half-hearted but very loud protest, he began undoing the buttons on the other man’s shirt.  
  
“Too much blood.” Ryohei repeated as he glanced over Hayato’s wounds.  
  
“Che,” the unlit cigarette dangled between his lips, “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I was just a little distracted.”  
  
“With that attitude, one of these days you’ll end up with a bullet hole on your big, octopus head.”  
  
“Tell me something I don’t fucking know, idiot.”  
  
Ryohei said nothing in reply. He extended his hands and trailed them over the fresh wounds across Hayato’s chest, up towards his shoulders then back down again to his chest. Hayato flinched every time their skin touched. Ryohei’s movements were so irritatingly audacious that Hayato felt compelled to wriggle on his seat just to spite.  
  
“Don’t move,” One hand grabbing Hayato’s thigh, steadying him on his seat, “I’m gonna clean your cuts now.”  
  
Biting back remarks, Hayato closed his eyes and winced slightly at the familiar feeling as the alcohol stung his skin. This wasn’t the first time Ryohei treated him like this. There were a few other times when he came back bloodied and wounded, though probably never as broken— and Ryohei would be the one who would patch him up, just like he was doing now. And tonight, this tacit routine between them felt almost like a comfort to him.  
  
“Whatever happened out there, it wasn’t a good one was it?”  
  
“Since fucking when it ever was?” Hayato cracked his eyes open and stared at the man in front of him.  
  
Ryohei laughed humorously as if he was cracking a joke. Hayato tossed his unlit cigarette down to the floor then shifted a little, allowing the other man better access to his shoulder.  
  
Eyes cast downward, Hayato studied his hands, “You wanna know what happened out there?”  
  
“I don’t particularly want to know but you’ll tell me anyway.”  
  
“I killed a kid today.”  
  
The hands that had been working on his shoulder flinched faintly but Hayato felt it nevertheless, “You were only doing your job.” Ryohei said firmly.  
  
“I must been doing a shitty job then because all I can think now is how he looked at me as he was dying.”  
  
“Then stop thinking about it.”  
  
“I can’t because—” Hayato turned his head away, suddenly wishing for his cigarette , “—because he reminded me of us, you know? Us from the past?”  
  
“In the past, we could have died too.”  
  
“We could but we didn’t.”  
  
“We all have guilt we carry around.”  
  
Hayato looked down at the floor, “That’s the thing. I didn’t. I felt nothing and it was terrifying,” he opened his mouth, then closed it, and then opened it again, spitting his words, “—and I want to feel something, fuck, anything— maybe I just need to be angry for a while.”  
  
“But you’re extremely angry all the time.”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“Or maybe you need to be sad for a while.” Ryohei said warily, but so close to his ear that Hayato could almost feel his warm breath on his bare neck.  
  
Hayato snorted softly and then lifted his head. Their eyes locked. Ryohei was probably right. He was angry all the time. When he was a child, anger meant throwing a tantrum, shouting to the top of his lungs, and kicking people on the shins. Later, anger to him was smoking twenty-four sticks of cigarettes a day, blowing stuff into pieces, or getting plastered alone in his small apartment. Lately, anger felt stunningly hollow to him; as if he used up all his emotions back then and all that was left was emptiness.  
  
But sadness was one of the emotions he couldn’t afford to feel. Adulthood had turned him into a bitter and terribly broken person and to be honest, Hayato couldn’t see himself becoming someone other than that person.  
  
Because he wouldn’t know how to be other than what he had become.  
  
Moments passed; he wasn’t even aware that he had moved, closing the gap between them to less than an inch. And for one insane moment, he contemplated, calculating in his head how easy it was to cross the line— and maybe, just for seconds; that perhaps he could just—  
  
Warm sensation crept slowly from his chest to his numb face, Hayato withdrew himself slightly, “I liked it better when you were stupid.”  
  
Ryohei laughed. The deep, throaty sound filled the whole room, “I still am.”  
  
-


End file.
